


Allision

by foxontherun



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Coming In Pants, Fighting Kink, Frottage, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Rimming, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxontherun/pseuds/foxontherun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short prompt-fill. Will wakes up on a ship after the fall from the cliff. Where do they go from here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allision

Will has very little conception of how much time has passed since he woke, half crippled with pain and fever, in the cramped berth of the fishing boat. He has vague memories of being attended to by a bruised and filthy Hannibal. His wounds dressed and his burning forehead soothed with wet cloths. But his awareness flickers like the dull snicks of a camera lens. Blink: he heaves his torso over the edge of the bed to vomit painfully - a bucket has been placed below. Thoughtful, he thinks. Blink: the bed dips as Hannibal settles his weight next to Will, body radiating heat through tattered clothing. Hannibal has his eyes closed as he leans down to press his forehead against Will’s. This close, Will can see the lines of exhaustion like spidery cracks around his deep-set eyes. He can see Hannibal’s pale lashes flutter. They catch the dim light and settle closed once again. Hannibal sighs. Blink: the boat sways and banks. Outside, the crackle of rain against the metal roof. Someone curses - not in English. Blink: Hannibal lifts him with infinite care, sponge in hand. Cool water. Hannibal’s finger traces down his spine. Will winces when he presses against a bruise. Hannibal’s hands falter, stop. Blink: Hannibal sits slumped against the wall of the cabin. He presses a hand gingerly to his side and reaches for a bottle of pills. He looks at Will, eyes hooded with pain.   
  
  
His return to full consciousness creeps up on him - the frames of his camera speeding up until it becomes a fluid film. And suddenly his eyes open for good, and he stares at the ceiling. He hear’s a noise from outside, and Hannibal appears in the doorway. They stare at each other in silence for what seems like an eternity. Their fall from the cliff had seemed like an eternity, as well. Will seems to remember at the moment of their tumble, Hannibal’s hand reaching for his and squeezing, hard. There is nothing but mercy and love in his eyes as he falls.  
  
  
As much as it seems like there’s nothing left to say, they are both alive, and so the conversation must continue. At first it is nothing but banalities - Hannibal tells Will that he had suffered a collapsed lung, broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder. Will does not ask about Hannibal’s injuries, but he notices that the doctor walks heavily, favoring his left side. There are remnants of dried blood on his temple, and the daylight makes him wince. They do not speak of the past, nor of the future. They coexist like sailors, alternating turns at the helm and doing their best with the motor, which has seen better days. At night they take turns sleeping and sailing, eating canned food which Hannibal doesn’t say a word about, though his appetite has waned. Sometimes Will turns and catches Hannibal looking at him, and has to avert his gaze from the terrible, beautiful, painful look in the cannibal’s eyes. Sometimes Will abandoned his post at the wheel and settles against the doorway of the cabin, watching the man sleep. The rhythmic draw of his breath, the way his hair falls over his face like a child’s. Sometimes Hannibal has nightmares. Will can relate.

 

He doesn’t know where they are going, and he doesn’t care. And he doesn’t know what to do next, and he doesn’t care about that, either. He can’t seem to say what’s in his heart, and that one hurts. Hannibal stands at the small camp stove in the galley and cooks powdered eggs, and Will wants to tear out his heart and crawl inside the hole that is left behind.   
  
  
The day when it all comes to a head is appropriately grim, with thunderheads like dark pods of whales looming in the sky to the east. Will steers towards them. The weather suits his mood. There are flickers of lightning on the horizon. Will wants a storm.  
  
  
Hannibal is coming up from below when Will launches himself at him. There are no words, but a rough, strained cry breaks free from his locked throat as he lunges, catching Hannibal off guard. The doctor gives a surprised grunt as he goes down, but he doesn’t stay down for long. His hands lock on to Will’s throat and he throws himself sideways, toppling Will from on top of him, and they roll onto the deck as dime-sized drops of rain begin to fall, making the wood of the deck slippery and stinging their eyes. They grapple, and Will forces his wrists inside of Hannibal’s grasping hands, ripping them off his throat as Will brings his skull down into Hannibal’s face, breaking his nose and ripping a growl from the man who twists in Will’s grasp and bucks upwards, throwing Will back. Will’s head hits the boards with a crack, and stars explode in the space behind his eyes. He rolls blindly to the side, avoiding Hannibal’s knees, and springs upward into a crouch. Hannibal is on his hands and knees, and he hitches his upper lip upward into a snarl. Will comes at him again, and they go down, with Will on top, knees squeezing Hannibal’s waist, one hand tangled in the man’s soaking hair. He lifts Hannibal’s head and brings it down. Hannibal writhes in his grasp. They are both panting, blood has smeared down Hannibal’s face and mingled with the rain, tinting his shirt and the floorboards a watery pink. Will tightens his grip on Hannibal’s hair, and one of Hannibal’s hands reaches up. Time stands still - for a moment, even the rain suspends. They are trapped in this moment, isolated from the roar of the storm and the downpour, as Will grips Hannibal’s skull tighter, and tighter, and Hannibal reaches up, and gently, with unfathomable love and tenderness, brushes Will’s soaking hair from his eyes. So that Will can see him with unfettered clarity when he ends Hannibal’s life.  
  
  
The rain begins to fall once more as Will sits atop Hannibal, who has abandoned all pretense of struggle. Will stares down at this man - this terrible man. This monster, whom he loves with a fierceness that borders on insanity - and he drops his head to Hannibal’s chest.   
  
  
“You’re alive” Will whispers, color and sound and life roaring back into his world with psychotic intensity and joy.  
  
  
“WE are alive, dear Will,” Hannibal murmurs back, arms winding around Will’s back, tightening their embrace. And Will presses his mouth to Hannibal’s, crushing their lips together, desperate, sliding hot tongues as the doctor reciprocates, hips grinding upwards into Will’s own. Will moans, pressing his forehead to Hannibal’s as his arousal swells, rutting their hardening lengths together as Will bites Hannibal’s lips and Hannibal sucks his tongue into the hot wetness of his mouth. Will fucks his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth as they buck into one another, both of them incandescent with life and light and fierce, unapologetic love.   
  
  


At some point they manage to stand and support one another to the relative dryness of the cabin, where Will strips Hannibal of his bloody clothes and scrapes his teeth down the doctor’s chest and belly, his fingers grasping the hair on Hannibal’s chest and tugging, twisting, until the doctor snarls and rips Will’s shirt off, licking and sucking at a pert nipple, taking it between his teeth and nipping, while running his palm down the front of Will’s pants to his jutting erection, palming it through the wet cloth before he drops to his knees to suck, the heat of his mouth and the roughness of the wet fabric causing Will’s knees to buckle as he cries out, biting a knuckle hard to keep from coming.  
  
  


Hannibal nearly throws Will onto the mattress and climbs up over him, dragging Will’s pants down to his knees and taking the head of Will’s cock, angry and slick with precum, into his mouth. He sucks just the head, running the flat of his tongue around and under, tonguing a spot that has Will trowing his head back and shouting, his hands gripping fistfuls of sheets, as Hannibal takes him all the way into his throat, saliva dripping from his mouth as Hannibal’s lips and tongue swirl around him. Hannibal pulls off him as Will tugs him up to share a sloppy kiss, tasting himself on Hannibal’s lips. He slips a hand down the front of Hannibal’s pants and grips his impressive girth, causing Hannibal to bury his face in the crook of Will’s neck, inhaling deeply and biting the meat of Will’s shoulder as Will strokes him, using the liberal slickness he finds pooling at the tip of Hannibal’s cock as lubrication. Hannibal flips them so Will is on top, straddling Hannibal’s thighs, and slips two fingers in Will’s mouth, who sucks them greedily in, tongue pressing in between and under, wetting them well, as Hannibal withdraws them and reaches back to massage Will’s cheeks, slipping one finger inside to tease his rim. Will arches back and his grip on Hannibal’s cock falters. Hannibal circles him with a finger, dipping inside once or twice, and then slips out from underneath will, pressing the entire length of his body against Will’s back, so that the smaller man lets himself fall forwards into the mattress, and Hannibal positions himself behind, parting Will’s buttocks with his thumbs, and licking a broad stripe up Will’s perineum and teasing his tongue into Will’s hole, causing Will to drive his face into the mattress and his cock to jerk, untouched, between his legs. Hannibal licks and sucks at Will’s hole, reaching forward to grip Will’s cock, dripping now, so that when Will bucks back into Hannibal’s tongue, his grip on Will’s cock slides. Will is almost thrashing in frenzy now, his cries growing louder as Hannibal’s hand on his cock speeds up and his tongue dips further into Will, teasing and stretching and then Will is pulsing white hot jets of cum, his pleasure peaking and he screams, his cock swelling and jerking in Hannibal’s grasp, his hole clenching around Hannibal’s tongue. As he collapses onto his side, still twitching from weaker jolts of arousal, Hannibal rolls him over onto his back, and crawls on top of him, his neglected cock still rock hard in his pants, as he pants and ruts against Will’s thigh, biting and sucking at Will’s neck and Will in turn tugs his hair and scrapes his teeth down Hannibal’s throat and runs his nails down Hannibal’s back to the swell of his ass and squeezes and then Hannibal is coming with a throaty growl, pressing his forehead hard against Will’s, as hot come paints the inside of his pants and he gasps a word, not English, against Will’s lips.  
  
  
Later Will they wash each other up, both with suppressed smiles. The rain has stopped and the dark beachhead clouds have dispersed, though twilight is encroaching fast. Out here on the open ocean, the stars appear at dusk, and the two outlaws sit up on deck, Will resting against the warm cage of Hannibal’s chest.  
  
  
“So where do we go from here?” Will asks finally, twisting to gaze up into Hannibal’s dark, fond eyes. Hannibal points to a constellation just to the right of the rising moon.  
  
“Are you familiar with what lies beyond what is known as the Gate of the Gods?” Hannibal asks.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Will answers, looking out over the darkening ocean to the flat line of the horizon.  
  
“Let’s find out together,” Hannibal says, seeing the point of the horizon for what it is - the mysterious, wonderful, terrible, beautiful point where sea meets sky and where two murderers meet their destiny.     


End file.
